


Resolution

by Bitchard_ZK



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Gay Sex, M/M, SCHWULEEEEE AAAAAAAAAH
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-09-02 11:50:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8666407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bitchard_ZK/pseuds/Bitchard_ZK
Summary: Richard feels as though all around him is crumbling down. Fortunately he has a light at the end of the the unnecessary.





	

"Great".  
The word was spat out as if it had left a foul taste lingering in his mouth. With a flick of his fingers and wrist he cast the now extinguished cigarette to the ground and lifted his collar up to protect himself against the now incoming rain. The skies had been painted in a foreboding palette of greys and navy blacks. This entire week had been a shit load of stress to him. Nothing seemed to go the way he wanted it to. He was experiencing one of the worst writer's blocks he had ever experienced since Rammstein- even Death Orgasm Gimmick- and everything he did come up with was either laughed at or simply scowled at- mostly by Paul and Till.  
'When it rains it pours', Richard thought to himself with a certain bitterness and decided to head back to 'the headquarters' when the rain worsened. It was basically an older house in Schwerin where all Rammstein members had decided to spend some time in order to prepare for their new album. Richard had pushed for them to go to his hometown, much to Flake's dislike. He had probably hoped to spend some time closer to his family-something he as a family man could not disagree with. By the time he finally got to their beaten down 'studio' Richard slid past Paul and Schneider, whom obviously didn't appreciate the man's incessant criticizing. Till was impatiently tapping his fingers on the surface of the table as he complained to Oliver about how 'This asshole' was not even responding to his calls. It didn't take a genius to figure out who he was upset with. . .  
"This asshole left his phone here".  
Richard would have been surprised at his own anger when he yelled into the livingroom, soaking wet and cold. His teeth were chattering when Till gave him a glance that almost sent additional chills down his spine. Richard just knew he had fucked up.  
"Where were you? ", Paul called out. Had he only noticed him now?  
It was just one walk. . . He'd only been away for. . . Three hours? Had it been three hours since he left? Richard let his head hang a little. Schneider was not appreciative that he had been gone for so long and had left him in Paul's line of fire, Oliver simply shook his head, mouthing an 'I knew it', and Till. . . Till was the worst. Those cold, dead eyes bore right into him as he looked over to him.  
"We could use some help on this album from you too".  
Was all he said to him before taking a deep drag from his cigarette. It hurt him more than any comment could ever have hurt him- save for some nasty remarks his ex-wife had made about his newborn. Richard felt the clutching grasp worsen around his stomach and heart as he stared Till down- knowing the man felt his powerlessness to do anything at all.  
"I'm going to bed. ", was all he could utter- it earned him a sympathetic and concerned glance from both Paul and Oliver- Schneider wasn't in the room, but Till just stared him down the way he always did. With stomping feet he walked upstairs to his room. The second he entered he sat down on the bed- face buried in his hands. He didn't want to sit here sobbing- he was stronger than this. . .  
"Richard?"  
Flake. Richard was unsure whether he wanted to open the door and hear what he had to say. Most of the time he was either the oil on the fire- or the soothing water and ointment for a burn. Which one was not clear beforehand. The door opened and there he stood, his long brownish blonde hair tied back, wearing a sweater that was most likely borrowed from Oliver or something.  
"What's wrong?"  
His accent was strong- as always- as he walked over to him. Had he not been there during the entire fight? Was this all he was going to say?  
"So now you show up?"  
Richard didn't mean to snap at him. The keyboarder probably had no clue what just happened a second ago. He most likely caught wind of it before Richard came home and may have complained as well. At this point he just wanted to be left alone, sleep, whatever. Leave and drink even. Anything was better than being here.  
"Well to be honest I was in the kitchen trying to cook for six picky eaters. I'm sorry if I didn't immediately jump to your needs". Flake spoke with his ever so monotonous but sarcastic tone that just irritated Richard even further.  
"Well I didn't ask for you to cook". He snapped. It did a number, he saw it in Flake's eyes.  
"But still I did." He replied. "And you don't have to eat it ". He showed a smile but it was forced. God was this all he could do? Get into fights with his bandmembers, not come up with anything productive and then bite off the hands of those who wished to help him? Richard's pride was in the way again as he began to bite at the skin around his polished nails. Flake suddenly slid his slender fingers in between the gap of his tumb and index finger and took his hand, linking their fingers. It was something small- but it made him lose control over himself. Richard cast his eyes upwards to the man who sat next to him and found that the glistening in his eyes, the near tears expression, somehow made Flake forgive every single comment he had just made. The older man rubbed his thumb along the back of his hand in order to show reassurance and express his support in the smallest most seemingly insignificant way he could.  
"I know what it's like. Reesch. " He tilted his head to seek eyecontact when the latter cast his eyes downward again in shame as tears now escaped his mask. 

"to feel like nothing you do matters. Hey- I was in a band with Paul before- and although my time with him and Aljoscha was one of the best times I've had in my entire youth- I still struggled at times. To the extent that I even felt insignificant in a small way. I'm not saying I reproach them in any way- but there were moments that I didn't feel like anything I did was good. And sometimes they were right. But that doesn't mean that it's bad."  
Richard just stared at the other. THis was something he had never expected the other to confess to him so openly. He doubted anyone else knew this about him, not even his ex-wife. Richard almost felt guilty along with priviledged for knowing this.  
"I heard you play a song this morning. I'm not sure how it goes-"  
Richard nodded when he realized what he was talking about and smiled a little.  
"That was -erm. . . A draft- I made. For a song. "  
For a moment Richard blossomed up- not only as a person, but as an artist. The fact that someone took his opinions and his ideas seriously, a full one-hundred percent without barking him down the second he even started. Flake smiled as he watched the other, mentally, search for the right chord sequence and text while he grabbed his guitar. He began to strum the chords, mouthing and speaking the words without melody as he snatched the paper on which he had scribbled some text. Flake looked over his shoulder as he read the text out loud and tried to remember the right chord sequence. The taller man hadn't even said or done anything to get Richard to open up to him in this way, perhaps it was because of his own heart felt story about his Feeling B years.  
"Well- What I've got so far- is this part, up to here". He pointed his finger from the first part of the chorus, up to the first verse. 

Flake read up the text . And it wasn't bad- but it was indeed something that would not have fit for Rammstein. . . He mouthed the words as Richard had done.  
"Come with me". The keyboardist ordered- it wasn't a question. The man obviously had a strike of inspiration and was going to follow it. Richard followed him without a question, his emotions temporarily forgotten. They went up to the attic, where Flake had set up his own small studio- his keyboards and laptop, and his bed. Richard stood behind the man as he sat down in front of the keyboard.  
"Play that first Verse again. " He asked as he turned the power on and began to press some buttons on the device. Richard obliged and played the verse. But as he followed the same intro pattern he had before- Flake added sounds and bits and pieces that somehow seemed to finish it. With an expression of surprise on his face he continued playing- a smile on his face as the man somehow just knew how to play the song he had in his mind- but couldn't put out onto paper.  
They spent at least another two or three hours developing the song until he had it out on paper. Richard set down the guitar and was finishing up the last few bits with Flake, who ran his finger over the paper and scribbled down some last things.  
"I suggest you play this part in mineur instead of major. Gives it that extra edge. And if you add this sound- instead of the guitar you wanted to, it gives it- something else. Das Gewissen etwas. . ." Flake removed his glasses and began cleaning them as he stared at the paper. Richard almost felt his heart flutter madly as he looked over to the other. Finally, he somehow felt like he mattered again.  
"Now I've got a song I can't do anything with". He suddenly realized- and soon found himself stuck in the same dark cloud he had been stuck in before Flake worked his ass off to help him.  
"Not for Rammstein". Flake said. Richard frowned and stared at him for a moment.  
"What do you mean?" The Berliner turned his head to him as he readjusted his glasses.  
"Just because Rammstein, can't do it- doesn't mean you can't." He added.  
"Now if you don't mind, I have an unasked dinner to make". The joke fell heavy on Richard's heart as Flake rose up to exit the room. He easily climbed down the ladder and Richard could hear him walk down the stairs.  
______________________________________  
Now that everything was chopped up and ready to cook, Flake started working on the desert. He was happy to see Richard got further with his song- but it didn't empty his own mind. He too was struggeling with the close-mindedness of the band, and he knew Schneider and Oliver were dealing with the same thing. Somehow everyone felt like he was the safe haven to talk to in the band- but none of them talked to each other.  
"Flake?"  
The voice caused him to throw the cup of almond flavored creamcheese up, droplets landing on his sweater and face. He whipped his head around to see whoever interupted his private time- only to recognize it was Richard, leaning against the doorpost like a beaten puppy. A smirk had now formed on the man's face as he took in the sight of an obviously startled, cream cheese face.  
"Richard I swear to God I will put you in the cake if you do that again." But this didn't help the other stiffle his laughter.  
"I just- wanted to ask you if I could help you?" RIchard's voice was soft now that he was done laughing. "I figured you could use a hand. . Or two". Demonstratively, he held up his hands and with a smile. Flake wasn't going to lie. He appreciated this greatly, no matter how much he enjoyed cooking and baking from time to time. Richard approached him and looked around for a moment before grabbing one of the whisks and following the same instructions Flake was following a moment ago. They worked together rather surprisingly well and within no time it was done and in the fridge.  
"Thanks for helping out Reesch". Flake finally said as they sat down with a cup of coffee. Richard sat down next to him and just shot him his casual smile. He took a cigarette and lit it up- surprised he had even been able to resist smoking this long.  
"It's okay." He mumbled between the lighting of his cigarette. They stared into nothingness for a moment until flake moved a strand of hair behind his ear, drawing Richard's attention.  
"What is it?" Flake asked when the other male stared at him, not directly at his eyes, but at his ear? Past him?  
"You've got a little". Richard pointed and gestured- but he somehow could not get the right spot. After a few seconds of 'And now?'s, Richard leaned in with a sigh, cigarette between his lips to slide his index finger underneath his ear and slowly rubbed his thumb over his earlobe. Flake didn't respond until Richard took an irritated drag from his cigarette, and licked his tumb and brought it back to his ear. The sensation caused Flake to shudder involuntarily. Richard smirked when he saw the reaction he got from the other.  
"Did that tickle?" He asked.  
"No, sometimes you just get the shudders, you know? Like when you brush your hair and this one hair tickles you. " Richard wasn't getting his reference and just chuckled.  
"Any way- I was thinking about watching a movie in bed. Care to join? I don't want to sit downstairs for dinner right now. You know ". Flake lit his own cigarette now as Richard spoke, and nodded. He could understand that. And to be honest- although he wasn't a fan of watching television he could humor his friend.  
"of course". Flake replied as he exhaled the smoke. It wasn't as if he could take a walk in this weather. "Let me grab some beer and if you can bring dinner upstairs. I'll fetch the cheesecake when it's done".  
Richard smiled widely and nodded. They did as Flake had suggested and soon settled down in Richard's bed, pillows propped up behind them as they half-sat up. The movie they watched was an old one, one Flake couldn't care any less for. They finished more than one beer- finished their meals and soon Flake at up, holding his pillow as Richard had his arm resting behind the taller man with a cigarette between his index and middle finger. A frown was permanently fixed on Flake's face as he tried to make sense of the movie, while Richard was laughing heartily at the jokes the English women and men seemed to throw at each other. It wasn't much later that Flake began to feel his back complain. It wasn't quite comfortable to sit up like this. Paul would have casually slung his arm around Richard's abdomen and made himself comfortable, but Flake wasn't like that- at all. He straightened his back and got up from Richard's side, where he had subconsciously been resting against the man.  
"Everything okay?" He asked as he extinguished the cigarette against the ashtray and sat up as well.  
"Yeah. My back". Richard nodded in understanding and didn't hesitate to press his fingers over Flake's shoulders to dig his thumbs along the sides of his spine, moving in circular motions. A deep sigh- almost a groan, slid past the man's lips.  
"That feels better than I had expected it to". Flake admitted, earning himself a chuckle from Richard whom moved up to sit down behind him, his legs on either side of the other.  
"Let me give you some pay back for today." He joked as he placed his hands back now. For a moment he simply rubbed over the man's shirt, but then slid his hands into the collar of the sweater to touch the man's warm skin. Flake shuddered again, making him smile. The man was obviously very pleased with this offer and didn't swat him off as he had often swatted off Paul as he promised his massages were the best (only to dig his fingers into the sensitive muscle underneath the collarbone). Richard smirked and even chuckled when the man leaned back against him to receive more of this release.  
"It's in my lowerback- that's what's killing me". Flake informed him.  
"Take your sweater off." Richard already lifted it up a little and Flake finished the rest. It was rather chilly, to sit shirtless in the winter, even if they were inside. Richard took another drag as he leaned against the wall. Flake assumed he had lit a new one.  
"Sit back". Came the guitarists' low voice as he placed the cigarette on the ashtray and rubbed his hands together to warm them up before placing them on the pianist's back. Expertly was a big word- but Richard sure knew what he was doing, whether it was self-taught or just a lucky shot. His entire back sent little shock waves up and down his back, making him shudder at times when the man rubbed a knuckle or finger over a knot. It wasn't until Flake visibly began to show signs that he was cold that Richard ran his hands up and down his upper arms.  
"It's not that cold". Richard cooed, obviously mocking the man as he, muscular block of muscle and fat sat with a shirt and hoodie behind him.  
"To me it is". Flake snapped and crossed his arms over his chest. Richard, without initial intentions, pulled him backwards and wrapped the sides of his hoodie around the thin man, actually succeeding in wrapping him in it completely.  
"There, better?" Richard was already moving to release him- but in all honesty- it felt really good. . .  
"No- no- no- wait". Flake hurriedly whispered, and clutched his fingers against the fabric, enjoying the warmth he received in his back from Richard's body heat. The two remained like that, Flake lying back against Richard with his strong arms wrapped around his frailer frame. It was extremely comfortable- Flake wouldn't deny that- but Richard was quite surprised with how natural and good it felt to hold the taller man in his arms. With a soft sigh his lips brushed past the man's ear.  
"Thanks, for today. Really. I don't know what I would've done without you. " Flake shuddered, his face turning a bit red.  
"It's alright. We're like a family." He replied as Richard took a drag from his cigarette, and then held it in front of his lips. Flake's hands were stuck underneath Richard's hoodie- so he could not take it himself. He reached forward and took a long, deep drag before leaning back against the man's chest to release the smoke into the air. A Richard placed the cigarette back on the ashtray- it surprised Flake it hadn't burned out yet, the guitarist wrapped his arms around him again- and the security it made the man feel was insane.  
"Comfortable now? " He could hear the smug smirk in Richard's voice.  
"Hmm. . ." He replied, his face expressionless.  
It wasn't until the next morning that either of them realized how they had fallen asleep like this. Flake had turned around somewhere during the night and now laid against Richard's chest, still wrapped in the man's muscular arms.


End file.
